Devil's Code
by Cloud Ishida
Summary: Are Dante's memories of his past reality, or deception created to protect himself from the truth? Visit by his mentors, Trish's discovery, and a mysterious Devil Knight hold the keys to his past, but will he want to know the truth? (Currently writing!)
1. Chapter 1: Names

Disclaimer: Devil May Cry is the property of Capcom. Though I wish I owned Dante. 

Note: ********* denotes shift in time (past to present & vice verca)

* * *

**Devil's Code**

Chapter I: Names  
By Cloud Ishida 

_Tap, tap, tap--_

The room was silent except for the slender, pale fingers dribbling on the mahogany antique desk . The lull hum sung by the neon lights of Devil Never Cry accompanied the drumming fingertips. The sign's lights crept through the open windows and illuminated the collection of demon heads decorating the walls with a light shade of pink. Trish stared hungrily at the phone on her desk waiting for a job to whisk her away from what seemed like eternal boredom. But for twelve days and twelve nights, not a single ring left the phone. No jobs without a password, nor did a single wrong number claim the phone. She leaned back on her cushioned chair, its hinges squeaking by any slightest moment. 

Papers were stacked by date and subject in her desk trays; her pens and other writing materials gathered in an old grey cup. The clock teasingly ticked tirelessly, constantly reminding Trish of her wasting time in that office waiting for a job. From her own polished, meticulously organized desk, her eyes traveled around the office to the her partner's littered with take-out boxes, beer bottles and a magazine or three of women staring seductively up at the peeling ceiling. The whole office was in a state of chaos as scrap papers, week old pizzas and things that were better off not spoken of glazed the wooden floor. Trish had been patient with Dante for months on his rather, unsanitary lifestyle, but he continued his habits of living like...well, like a pig. She lifted her white hand to her temple, slowly massaging the oncoming headache. "Dante." 

Wearing just his black, turtleneck top and dark crimson pants, Dante laid heavily in his chair, leaning it back to the extreme and all the while not noticing Trish's call. His legs hung lazily on his desk amidst the bottles rolling around with his every twitch of movement. His body was limp with relaxation, but his hands were at work on his favourite companions with precision. Ivory rested on his chest as its polished surface sparkled to whatever light that caught its metal frame. Dante held Ebony in one hand while the other polished and cleaned every edge, corner, and hole of the sleek, black firearm. 

"Dante!" Trish's patience was wearing thin. 

"Yo, what?" Dante replied half yawning, half-mumbling. 

Trish took a deep breath, knowing how the conversation will end as it always did nowadays, "Dante, you've been polishing you're guns for three hours, the office is a pigsty and we're low on cash. I'm going crazy with having no jobs and the fact we haven't gone out for the last two weeks isn't helping either." She sighed in hopes of getting more than a grunt as an answer from him this time. 

Dante kept his eyes focused on Ebony's handle, "Look, business is always slow this time of year, and I have money saved up so no worries over that. And there's no place TO go. You said all the clubs around here are sleazy." He breathed on the handle, letting his breath moisturize it for another polish. "And what do you mean it's a pigsty? At least I can find anything unlike the way you cleaned our room last month... Took me three hours to just find my belt. " 

Thinking back to the club days, her eyes narrowed at memory of having drunken boys groping her every two minutes, but smiled at the thought of her, rather rough retaliation. Ha, those boys would never touch a girl again. And the belt. Trish remembered watching Dante scurrying left to right in search for his standard, crimson wardrobe and enjoyed every moment of it. "All I did was put it and the rest of your clothes in the closet. That IS what it's there for. And that's not what I meant by never going out. We've been cooped up in here weeks and.....Dante, are you even listening to me?" She glared at him, but he didn't even look up at her irritated tone of voice. "And you've been doting over your guns for hours everyday while you could get rid of devil knows what living under all that garbage..." she furled her brows at the thought. 

"I always clean Ebony and Ivory every night, you know that..." Dante lifted an eye towards Trish only to see her cross-armed and drilling her stare into him. He couldn't help but smirk from the look on her face. He knew when she was angry, and right now she looked beyond pissed. "Alriiight alright, I'll clean everything up tomorrow." Trish's glare didn't falter. "I promise, okay? You gotta lighten up once in a while, Trish, or you'll get premature wrinkles on that lovely face of yours." Dante glanced at his apathetic partner, shifting his head back over the head rest of his chair to eye Trish with his smile, "And we'll go out for dinner tonight, my treat." He winked at her and turned back to Ebony. 

Trish blinked. Not quite satisfied with his answer but it was a start. The fact that the office was becoming a radioactive-hazard zone wasn't the true problem nagging the back of her mind. Ever since he received a letter almost two weeks ago, and neglected to tell her about its contents, Dante seemed...light-hearted? Almost playful... She didn't mind the sudden change, but what brought the change bothered her. "Deal, and no fast food." Dante just raised a hand and saluted in mid-air in response. 

Her eyes trailed to the clock on her desk. 9:57pm. Fatigued from waiting for calls and nagging, Trish pushed away from her desk and headed for the stairs leading to the upper bedroom. "I'll be upstairs if you need me." Trish waited for a response from the other, but knew she could never win his attention over those twin guns of his. Sighing again, she walked up the flight of stairs to the cracked, wooden door hanging loosely from its hinges. The image of Dante polishing his guns entered her mind, leaving a slight smirk on her blood red lips. _You'll have to explain to me your obsession someday, Dante._

And she has asked, god knows she tried to pry it out of him. But Dante just shrugged, turn his back to her and respond, "It's a guy thing." 

Dismissing the thought, she twisted the knob as the door opened with a resounding creak; the result of years of neglected maintenance. Upon entering their room, frustration started to build up within her yet again. The bedroom floor was littered with pants, socks, shirts, and accessories hanging from any place that could be hung. Trish felt the headache building up a fortress in her temple. As if by instinct, she started to pick each article of clothing up, one by one. She made her way to the worn down bed, trying not to think when the last time a piece of clothing was washed. Yes, clothes littered on and under the covers too. Trish felt defeated in her efforts but continued with her.... 

Lifting the black gloves off a picture frame, she saw the photo housed inside the glass. A blonde woman with hair as long as her own. The slender figure in the photo stared at her with crystalline blue eyes. Her clothes read of luxury, with the posture of a noblewoman. Everything about her radiated elegance. Without even realizing it, Trish found herself staring at the woman, seeing her own faint reflection off the glass. The physical resemblance was uncanny, and even though she did feel as if she mothered Dante at times, Trish knew she didn't have the charisma that the woman in the photo had. 

The woman, the mother Dante loved, and driven him to be a Devil Hunter. The woman named Eva. 

Without a word, she placed the frame down on the night table beside the bed. Then she looked at the heap of laundry in her arms, and with a sigh, dropped everything to the floor next to her feet. Even if she polished the floors by hand until her own reflection could be seen it would be soiled by tomorrow. Instead, she decided to catch up on some reading and headed for the bookcase. 

Row after row, books ranging from ancient demonology to horror novels to magazines of voluptuous women Dante liked to, as he put it, "observe the finer qualities that make the feminine body so amorously unique" filled the shelves. Running her fingers down the row of books, a particular title caught her eye. She fingered down the spine, reading it. _La Divina Commedia, di Dante Alighieri._ She heard of this infamous literary art in the Underworld before, where even there it was revered as a masterful piece of writing. Despite what many humans thought devils appreciated fine arts. And she couldn't help but smirk at the name of the author, finding it quite fitting. 

She pulled out the thick book, and suddenly a sparkle caught her eye. There was something... behind the books, and the lack of adequate lighting in the room made it hard for her to interpret what it was. She slid her hand into the opening, sliding the books on the side away to remove whatever it was from the back. Her fingers felt a cold, metallic surface, etched or carved in some way. Pulling it out, she revealed a small book with a red ribbon protruding between the pages like a bookmark. Signs of age dusted the metal cover, and the sparkle that caught Trish's eye blinked again. Upon closer inspection, she noticed a relief of a devil knight, it's eyes composed of ruby slivers that were the source of the glimmer. 

The relief image was strikingly familiar; the weapon depicted a dead give away. The knight staring up at the book's holder held the sword, Sparda. There was no mistake; it was a picture of the Legendary Dark Knight. Surprised by her discovery, Trish absent-mindedly sat on the bed, bringing both books with her. 

But her mind forgot about the Italian literature and dropped it beside her. She inspected her new find, and noticed that what looks like a lock for the book was missing. Brown stains decorated the pages' edges, stains that smelled faintly like blood. Curiosity getting the best of her, she opened it slowly to prevent any damage to the tiny book. Inside, rows of devil runes lined the page. She stared at the writings, all written by hand. She could read each rune, each letter, perfectly. 

_ 7th Moon (Red), 72 457Yr, ADA _

Lord Mundus summoned me again, concerning his need, more like a demand for a bigger army. He was unsatisfied with the training of the new recruits and his obsession with merging the World of Dark to Light is unnerving. Why does he even want to take such an ambitious task? The humans never knowingly harmed the Underworld... and with each passing day, as I see My Lord's army growing faster and stronger, I wonder if the humans will even have a fair chance to defend themselves... 

Trish raised an eyebrow. She couldn't believe what was lying in her hands. This... THIS must be Sparda's diary! A diary, where the source of the writings come from the heart. Thousands of years of experience, intimacies, power, all in this tiny book with its pages yellowing from age. Sparda's dairy. Dante had never mentioned such a book existed, or at least didn't bother to tell her. Trish flipped page by page, skimming through to confirm what was in her hands. It was all there: a soldier, to general, the day he decided to defect from Mundus to humanity, his victory in the legendary battle, the day he met his wife. 

The day he became a father. 

It was all here... Trish couldn't stop reading. Each page held a wealth of knowledge, both in dominating power and personal wisdom of life. Page after page, each more moving, more perplexing, she flipped through the book, and halfway though, there was a sudden stop of devil runes. Instead, english letters took centre stage on the pages. The handwriting wasn't sophisticated or elegant as the runes. It was as if a child scribbled all over the book. Trish flipped back again, to trace back to when the change started. 

She found it. Runes mixed with stylish handwriting on one page, a child's scribble of writing and a drawing on the other side. Trish read the child's side first, and quickly assumed whose writing it was. The one paragraph was all she needed to read, 

_ daddy gave me his mistery book! Its soooooo cooooool!!! Virgil got fors edje, but I daddy's book! he cals it a 'deiry'...dairy....diary... And he ses hes gonna teech me to reed and rite beter, but i think im doing prety ok... he sez hel teech me his nativ langwedg too! _

Trish couldn't resist to chuckle lightly at such horrible spelling. The picture underneath didn't help her suppress it. Stick figures and circles to make up some sort of human decorated the page. Each figure had an arrow pointing to it, the names of Sparda's family members. Beside it, runes were written, commenting on the artwork. She chuckled even more from that. "Oh Dante... You must've been a cute kid..." 

Catching her composure, she started reading the runes on the other page. 

_ 4th Moon (Gold), 74 472Yr, ADA _

This will be the last entry I will make in this book. Tomorrow, my sons will be 5 years old... It's hard to believe 5 years have already passed. Before I know it, Virgil and Dante will become young adults. From what Eva has told me about human boys and puberty, I do hope their teen years will be kind to me. Although this is my last entry, a new one will begin by my son's hand. I've decided to give Virgil my Force Edge, since he is actively enchanted by swords and expressed how he would like to be a swordsman someday, following me.. He has the fire to become a fine knight... if the human world would let him. And to Dante, I give my diary. He is very shy and quiet of the two, and some of my warmest memories are of him clinging on to his mother's dress for comfort from Virgil's teasing. I know he'll make good use of this. And I better help him read the devil language...and of course, teach him to spell. 

Dante...shy? Trish found that very hard to believe. A loudmouth, cussing, drinking, womanizing pig like Dante...shy? Her criticizing thoughts sharply turned to sorrow. Virgil did become a "fine knight", but the price was too high. If Sparda knew that Dante had to kill his older twin brother... what would he say? 

Flipping pages again, she read Dante's log on what seems to be about...? Strange, it's about Sparda's departur-- 

She snapped the diary shut and set it down beside her. This was Sparda's diary. No, it was Dante's diary. Now she was treading through his private thoughts. She doesn't have any right to read about such things... "...am I?..." She stared down at the book, its green eyes staring right back. If curiosity killed the cat, she'll be its next victim if she read further. She bit her lip, deep in her dilemma. Dante hardly, if ever, talked about his past. And maybe there was a reason for it. But if she was to be his partner in which any job accepted usually meant life or death situations, to trust him and his judgement, she has to know how he thinks. How he feels. How he reacts. She was trying hard to convince herself of these, and finally with a deep sigh, she opened the book once again. 

Trish, feeling a pang of guilt for continuing, opened to a random page written by Dante. And the first three words was all she needed to understand what this entry was about. 

_I killed her._

She looked at the date of the entry. It was written 20 years ago and a year after the last entry by Sparda. 

_itried to save mommy, virgil~. ..mommy I didn't mean too i tried to protectbut, but i was too weak i tried itried and i andi_

From the strokes and structure of the writing, Trish sensed his mind was in a state of hysteria. How could anyone blame him? How could he blame himself for his family's fate? He was only 6 years old. 

She continued to read eyes glued to the book making sure no detail was left out. It was the entry that forever changed his life, and guided him to his fate. 

That event 20 years ago... 

***********************

"Are you sure this is the place?" A woman clad in black leather glanced at a man wearing pure white. She revealed a thin framed black sunglasses from the inside pocket of her short, long-sleeved jacket and slipped it over her eyes. The sleeve on her left hand was rolled up and revealed just her wrist between her black glove and a black sleeve underneath. The exposed wrist flaunted the snake tattoo slithering around it, eventually biting on to its own tail. A vine of black roses decorated around the snake, wrapping it in thorns. She looked up at the eerily pleasant moon in the night sky. Reaching for one of her two holsters hanging from her waist, she drew out a black magnum gun, gripping it gently. "....The house smells of fresh blood..." 

The man she eyed wore a white trench coat, a stiff-neck buttoned shirt underneath and white buisness trousers. Even his hair was silver-white under the pale moonlight and combed back. On his back rested a giant, silver broadsword, and his hand resting on its intricate handle. He was, what some would say, unnaturally tall, with no hump back in sight that many people "blessed" with tall heights suffer from. "Sources I've checked earlier today point to here, love." He raised his head to the night sky, sniffing the air about him. "And it seems we're too late." 

"Let's just clean up what's left." Her voice carried no emotion, as if years of devil hunting have made her immune to basic human fear. Without much as a hesitation, she opened the unlocked door. The scent of blood and demon escaped through the doorway, her lips curling slightly with disgust. 

They both treaded silently around the torn house. The lights still worked, but what they revealed was best left in the dark. Windows, mirrors, all glasses were shattered, once white walls were now painted in blood. A small couch rested in the middle of the living room with no signs of damage, except stains of red. A vase was shattered beside the side table. Amongst the shattered glass, red and white roses laid; the white petals looked like freshly fallen snow, while the red further decorated the room with crimson. She walked up to the fireplace where the flames still flickered energetically as if nothing happened at all. Picture frames filled with family pictures lined the mantle, each always containing two, white-haired children. She looked passed them one by one, until a photo of a regal man, also with white hair caught her attention. She held up the photo to the man clutching the handle of his sword, "Is it just me or does he look exactly like you?" 

He answered with a grunt, and nodded his head to the bloody floor, "It looks like it's trailing to that room." 

The woman in black laid the photo to the side and with her partner followed the trail to a doorway. The knob was glazed in more blood, the white doors decorated with splattered crimson. She glanced sideways to him behind her sunglasses, and he responded with a nod. Holding her gun to her side, she slowly turned the knob and opened just enough to let a sliver of light pass through. The room on the other side was pitch black save the moonlight penetrating the windows. But there was something in there... Something... Someone... sounded like-- 

"...crying?" She softly mumbled to her partner. 

He leaned closer to the door and he too heard the soft cries of sobs and hiccups. "...survivors?" He raised an eyebrow, his way of expressing surprise. 

"Maybe..." Slowly, she widened the opening letting the living room light into what looked like the den. The soft cries were louder without the door acting as a barrier. Still readying her gun for any action, she stepped inside while searching for a light switch. 

"I got it." He announced, and flicked the switch, illuminating the den. The lights beamed down at the source of the cries as if they were stage lights. And the lights brought no calm tonight. 

In the middle of the room laid a headless corpse, drowning in its own blood. The head was nowhere in site. The purple dress that stuck to the body with blood as its glue told the two the victim was a woman. Gashes and puncture wounds penetrated throughout her body, easily carved on by claws or blades. And beside the slaughtered corpse, was an unexpected find. 

The source of the cries, a child, laid beside the corpse, it's hand clinging on to the woman's scarf. Both were unaffected by the gruesome site, but the sight of a child crying in a pool of blood was unexpected. A child surviving a demon attack? How? What were the chances? 

The woman holstered her gun, and approached the corpse and the boy. She squatted down near the child, a boy, following his half-opened gaze to the severed neck and back to the boy. The neck continued to spew blood even now, some of it splattering on the boy's fully soaked shirt. The man walked up slowly to his partner, shaking his head in disgust at the sight of a child wallowing in blood. What kind of demon would do such a thing? 

The boy cried, and whispered softly to no one. He lay on his cheek and the blood reached up to the corner of his mouth. Each time the boy opened his mouth, a bit of blood passed his lips to stain even his it red. Beside him was a white sword, partially covered in blood. The woman brushed the wet hair away from the boy's eyes, and whispered softly, like a mother's voice, "It's over... No one's going to hurt you anymore..." She lifted him up to her lap, slowly, gently. The boy's blank expression didn't waver, his lips still uttering mumbles and weeps. She flipped him on his back exposing the other hand that was tucked underneath him. He held on to a book with relief carvings on its metal cover, and a jewel around his neck. But, the boy's sparse breathing hinted at lung damage. She lifted the book to reveal gashes on his chest. Despite her apathy before, she gasped at the severity of the wound...but...something was different. 

Before her eyes, she watched the wound, slowly, but surly, shrinking in diameter. She watched in amazement, the man lifting his eyebrow again. 

"....what is going on.... is he...healing?..." she uttered softly. 

The man simply nodded, equally astonished, "We better get him out of here, love. It's not a place for children anymore." He nodded the corpse, already starting to smell foul. 

"Right...I'll carry him." She cautiously lifted the boy into her arms and was surprising lighter than she expected. The metal book still clasped in his hand, the boy's eyes started to shut in heavy slumber, releasing the grip on the corpse's scarf. "That's right kid, sleep." She touched his cheek with her own in an automatic response of affection. His cheek was cold to the touch, covered in blood. Some crimson stained her own cheek, her clothes dripping in it. But at this moment, that seemed insignificant. 

The man bent down and picked up the silver sword, staring at its workmanship, and the blood dribbling down to the tip. "Should we take him to a hospital?" 

She started to walk towards the door, holding the boy firmly but tenderly, "I don't hospitals are trained enough to deal with a kid like this." The man knew what she meant. The trauma, the pain, the agony the boy must have gone through, medicine and surgery can't cure them. 

------------------------------------------------

_M...omm..y?......V...ir...gil?_ Red eyes dominated the darkness, staring at him, judging him. The scene of the murder played out before his eyes, unable to respond to what he saw. 

A hand reached out to him from the darkness, delicate fingers... "Mommy?...mommy??" he whispered in his dreams. 

"Shhh, calm down..." The same women in black, still held the boy in her arms. The man next to her drove through the empty streets to the place they both called home. 

"M....mom....y?..." His green eyes wildly spun around to the new surroundings, oddly calm against her arms. The boy's eyes were completely blank, void of any emotion like his voice. 

She felt her jacket being gripped, and held him close to her, "Shhhh, the bad guys aren't here anymore..." He felt his back being stroked, just like how his mother...used....to-- She eyed him behind her black glasses, still flustered at how his chest had healed completely, without even leaving a scar. 

The boy sobbed and buried his face into her chest, mumbling something softly. He gripped the woman's jacket harder, curling up into a ball on her lap. 

"Love, I don't think it's wise at the moment to tell him what happened..." The white, angelic man glanced at the woman beside him, "He needs soothing, even if it's just for one night..." 

She looked down on the boy in her arms, slowly nodding in agreement. The way the child was so calm, so... apathetic, wasn't what she expected after what she saw. "Kid?" She gently cupped his chin in her hand and lifted it slightly, waiting for the boy to comply, "Don't think about what happened. Tonight, it's just an illusion... a dream..." She brush his hair away to look at his pale green eyes. 

"....but....Mommy......is............" His eyes were wide and empty, staring blankly into her eyes, penetrating the dark glass on her face. His mind was empty, devoid of emotion and thought. No fear, no hate, no sadness, and no sorrow. "Just a dream..." His breathing calmed, his mind was blank. The trauma too much to handle for one small child, the mind working its own magic to protect itself from an onslaught of horror. The part of him that healed his wound, the other side of him, carefully weaved its spell. The brain acting as if nothing ever happened... The foundation of dreams. 

"Kid.....?" she looked down on him, concern ringing in her voice. 

The boy looked up at her, then to the man driving. The man's hair....the eyes.... the face.... ".....D..add..y?" he whispered. 

The man lifted both his eyebrows, and she was at a loss of words for a moment, but recovered with a small smile, "N, no, kid. He's my friend...... Can you tell me your name?" She asked with all the sincerity in the world. 

The boy looked up at her, seeing bloodstains soaked in her clothes and his. He didn't know exactly why he was covered with blood...but his mind told him "not to worry, everything is fine." Everything's...fine.... Why did that sound so...fake?... "...........Dante." 

"Dante? That's a handsome name." She smiled as warmly as she could, "Do you have a last name?" 

Dante absent-mindedly looked out the window, "....Dante Sparda." 

_Sparda?!_ Her eyes grew wide momentarily and turned to the man next to her flinching by the name. Sparda... she thought, _THE Sparda?_ Could he possibly be the son of.... That would explain the healing... But, the probability of meeting a child of... She never expected such a name uttered by a small boy. "Well....Dante....kid, we're going to take you to our place... just till we get you clean up and rested... Does that sound ok?" 

Dante just nodded. His mind was blank, trying to absorb the events that shattered before hand. He looked up at the woman holding him again, "...are you....a friend of Mommy's?" 

She blinked in surprise by the question. "No... I don't think I had the pleasure of meeting her." 

"Oh." he replied. "What's your name?" He continued to stare around his surroundings with his empty eyes. 

She could see he was trying to work out in his mind, the tragedy he witnessed, but the mind has a mysterious way of blocking unwanted scenes. She removed her sunglasses, revealing emerald green eyes, gentle and silent, "My name's Ebony, and my friend here, his name's Ivory. It's...nice to meet you, Dante Sparda." 

****************** 

"Oh my..." Trish set the devil book on her lap, staring at the two names with questions multiplying in her head. The way Dante always took care of those guns... as if he was-- 

"Hey Trish!" 

"Wha--?!" Trish nearly jumped off the bed, startled by a sudden call from Dante downstairs. 

"Hey, it's past 11 o'clock, are we eating or not?" Dante hollered from downstairs. 

To her surprise, she felt her heart beating unusually fast for a reserved devil like herself. "C, coming!" Despite her accelerated heartbeat, her voice was steady to respond. She closed the diary and placed it back to where she found it, slipping in the Divine Comedy text in the large gap in the bookcase. 

Turning the room's lights off, Trish headed down the stairs, trying to suppress her findings for the night. She flipped her hair back, fixing her black wrist garment to the right position. When she reached the main office, Dante was already slipping on his dark red jacket with his pendent brightly hanging on his black top. "It's not closing time yet." Her hand reached for her black long coat from the coat hanger beside the door, flipping her hair back to expose it to the air. 

"If we don't get calls for two weeks, what makes you think they'll be one in the next 45minutes?" Dante brushed his silver hair away from his eyes and stepped out in to the cool night air. Trish followed behind, locking the door behind her and both headed for the all-night diner two blocks away. He flipped the collar of his coat up trying to protect his neck from the cold. His partner lagged behind, her eyes staring at the ground as she walked. He slowed down, and peered at his partner, "You're not grumpy that I woke you from your beauty sleep, are you?" 

"Huh? Who says I was sleeping? I was just reading ok?" She shot an irritated look at him. 

Dante caught it and shrugged, "Geez, ask a simple question..." 

Trish noticed the harsh tone in her voice, her thoughts still dwelling to the diary. She caught up beside Dante and after a brief moment of silence, a steady conversation began. 

-----------------------------

On a rooftop looking over Devil Never Cry, glowing red eyes followed the two hunters to a small, lit building. The owner of the eyes was clad in black, bone-encrusted armour and horns protruding from the side of its head, curling into then away from its face. A giant lance dangled from the hand adorned with claws, and its brusque voice released air vapour into the night. 

"It's time I visit your offspring again, Sparda..." 

* * *

...Ok that was just waaaay too long. This is why I dislike writing beginnings. I hope the rest of my chapters aren't going to be like this @_@ Too much detail, so little time. Confusing? Too long? Sucked? Intelligent reviews of all kinds is appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2: Broken

Whew, between HTMLing, studying for finals and drawing, it's amazing I found time to finished this chapter. And it's safe to say your unexpectedly positive reviews made me itchin 'to do some writin'. But until finals are over, it'll be a slow writing process 'til around the end of April XP 

I tried to finish this chapter ASAP before I hit the books so I won't make people wait (if you're still interested that is ^^;), so there's probably a lot of mistakes and weirdness here and there... I'll attempt to revise this when I'm free. 

Note: ************ denotes time shift. 

* * *

**Devil's Code**  
Chapter 2: Broken

Trish quietly washed her breath over her earl grey, cooling it down to a comfortable sipping level. Her hand dipped the tea bag repeatedly to make sure that every last piece of shredded leaves was drained of its juices. She liked her tea strong with no sugar, no cream. Raising the cup to her lips, the blonde beauty took a moment to savour the aroma before letting her tongue experience the taste. And that moment broke when the image of the book struck her in the face. She tried to forget it over dinner, but the need to read more of its secret pages grew with each passing minute. Trish peered over her cup and across the table to the other, who's hair shined under the diner lights like silver. 

Dante was still busy taking on his task of devouring his second helping of apple pie. Apparently, the spaghetti special with extra meat sauce with a giant's worth of garlic bread and salad wasn't enough to satisfy his hunger. He hadn't had an actual, healthy dinner for a week, and he didn't hold back tonight. Slowing down his pace, he ate each cinnamon-coated apple slice one by one, leaving behind the wax-like crust. "Are you sure you don't want any? The crust may taste like paper but the filling is great!" He stabbed at a slice of apple and waved it teasingly at Trish. His eyebrows bobbed up and down like a mischievous child refusing to tell a secret without an incentive in return. He had a peculiar goofy smile on him, and a bit of apple filling hanging along with it. 

Trish curled a smile in the corner of her lips; her eyes still fixated on the other. Never, not even the times when they dated months ago, has Dante ever teased her in anyway. It just wasn't like him. When he wanted something, he'd bellow it out for all to hear until he got what he desired. The tea's incense couldn't do its job of putting Trish into a quiet trance. Failing to hold back a broader smile, she set the cup on the table and retrieved her napkin. She leaned forward and extended one hand to Dante's lips, wiping his mouth. As soon as she sat back, Dante followed up wiping his mouth again with the back of his free hand. Without a word, Trish extended her other hand and accepted his offer. She took a tiny bite out of the sugar-coated fruit, and her eyes widened from the sweetness glazing her mouth. Her taste buds instantly agreed with Dante. It was her first time eating... this "apple pie", and she loved it without an afterthought. "You've always have this every time we eat here, and you never told me it tasted this good!" She locked the fork on to his plate and pulled it to her side. 

"Well you never asked." Dante didn't even bother to hide his amusement as he watched Trish take her turn devouring the pie. Despite the fact she had a history of killing, maiming, and generally kicking ass with her bare hands, when it came to life's simple pleasures, Trish was too naive. 

And she was beautiful, with an attitude that could match his own. It didn't hurt she liked his cooking either, though he could only make simple Italian food. Despite all the things he liked about her, and she liked about him, they never consummated their relationship. More like he refused to. That one night on his bed, that one moment they were about to move beyond a kiss, he just stopped. He couldn't go on any further. He couldn't shake the idea that it that his mother's eyes were staring back at him, and an Oedipus complex was a problem he never wanted to experience. Trish wasn't disappointed, but surprisingly to Dante, she understood. From the moment he saved her life on the reason that she looked like his mother, part of her knew, that would keep them apart at least on the physical level. Now, now they've built up their relationship from partner, to friend, to family, physical love was worthless. 

Trish finished the last of the apples, leaving behind a shell of dried crust and crumbles. Wiping her lips with her napkin, she looked up at Dante again. This time he was looking out the window beside their table, with a look of...reminiscing about something. It was a look Trish never experienced seeing, and knew there was something Dante wasn't telling her. "Ok, fess up." 

Dante blinked out of his thought and turned to Trish with a confused look, "What?" 

"You've been acting really weird lately. And you've been overtly happy... in a non-violent way." She added, knowing he had his happy moments in the heat of battle. "So, is there something you're not telling me?" Crossing her arms on the table, she leaned her head forward, waiting for an answer. "What are you talking about? I'm always in a good mood." He replied with almost a pout. 

"When you're usually happy, you have that thrill-of-the-hunt lust on your face. Right now you look like you want to go skipping through a field of dandelions and daises." She raised a hand to her chin, resting on it for support, "Does this have anything to do with that letter?" 

"Letter?" Dante perfectly knew what letter she was talking about. She nagged at him for days about it, and each time he managed to talk around it. 

Trish leaned forward ever more slightly, a sly smile forming on her lips, "Why Dante, don't tell me it's a love letter?" She couldn't help but feel mischievous; it was her turn to tease. 

Dante cringed at her speculation, "Love letter?! Hell no!" The idea of receiving a letter drenched in cheap perfume and cursive letters spewing some unrequited love was not his idea of fun. He let out a heavy sigh, knowing she won't back down until he told her what it was about. It would be better this way anyway, he tried to reason, since she would be meeting 'them' soon. "The letter's from a couple of old friends, that's all." He answered with a shrug. 

She raised an eyebrow, "...friends?" Her thoughts immediately raced to the book that lay in her hand earlier that night and the secrets it had. A part of her anticipated their names, a part of her knowing who they could be. 

"Is it so surprising to hear I do have friends?" There wasn't bitterness in his voice, just irritation. Come to think of it, he never did mention anyone but the waitress to her, not that he had friends really. Most were acquaintances that came with the job, only an isolated few he could truly call friends. 

"Eh?" Trish caught his annoyance, and tried to hold back her thoughts of asking about those names. She was beginning to find the human trait of curiosity a troublesome matter. "No, it's not that..." 

Dante merely shrugged again, "Whatever." He raised a hand to the solitary waitress working the midnight shift, motioning her for the bill. 

The small, petit waitress in her modest knee-high dress and white blouse made her way to the two customers and exchanged the check for their plates. Crumbs and bits of grated cheese and lettuce littered the crimson man's side of the table, while the blonde lady's side looked as if it was fresh from the manufacturer. "Are you sure you don't want another slice of pie, Dante?" The waitress chirped with a smile decorating her face, her brown, curly locks of hair highlighting her pale face. 

"I would Loraine but Trish developed a taste for them." Rummaging through his red, serpent-hide wallet, Dante took out a twenty and with the bill, slipped it into the waitress' dress pocket. "She'd gorge on it before I can smell it." The waitress giggled but Trish shot a glare across the table directly at her partner's eyes that had no effect on relieving him of his toothy grin. Dante didn't flinch from her deathly stares anymore since he was used to them by now... after many, many times witnessing it. "Oh and keep the change." He winked and plastered a charming smile to the girl balancing the plates exquisitely despite her frail looking arms. 

The waitress smirked and shook her head, "Still the charmer." As she was about to turn around, she let a comment playfully slip to the blonde woman, "I don't know how you put up with him, Trish." Then she balanced her way to the kitchen. 

"I don't now either... Thanks Loraine." Trish called before the waitress disappeared behind the back doors. She didn't mind the waitress' flirting attitude with Dante, and obviously Dante didn't mind either. After all, they did date couple of times long ago and she the only normal woman he ever took to his office who didn't run out screaming in terror from his... unique way of decorating walls. He always thought the way the heads were still bleeding was a neat effect. Shaking the thought away, her slender fingers laced around the teacup again, to take another sip. 

"So... they'll be visiting on Saturday." 

Trish almost spat, "THIS Saturday?! That's... tomorrow!" Her eyes shifted to the clock on the wall behind Dante. It was twenty passed twelve, "Correction, that's TODAY! When were you going to tell me this?" 

"Don't get so worked up Trish, I said I'll clean up the mess and I'll do it in the morning. It's not like they're expecting a party or something..." A yawn escaped with the mention of the time and didn't bother to cover his mouth, "...well, come to think of it, Ivory always been more of a formal guy..." He muttered to himself, not realizing Trish has listening. 

Her hands locked to the cup at the mention of the name. _So it is..._ Slowly, cautiously, her lips moved, "...Ivory?" 

It was just then Dante realized his 'surprise' slipped out. "Ohhh right I didn't mention their names either, have I?" He leaned back on the metal rails of the chair and stretched his legs out under the table, "They're names are Ebony and Ivory... and no, I'm not talking about my guns visiting me." He waited for some kind of reaction from her, and all he got was silence. Not exactly what he expected. 

The way he said those names was so casual that Trish didn't know how to react. She somehow expected those names, but with at least revealed with a bombardment of questions on her part. "Oh." was all she could think of to say. 

"Oh?" Dante felt a bit let down. He expected more than an "oh" from her. 

Trying to keep her cool, to avoid letting any hints that she heard those names from a different source an hour earlier, Trish looked up with a straight face. If she knew how to play poker, she would be a rich woman by now. "And here I thought you'd be more original when naming your arms. I assume you named your guns after them?" 

Dante frowned, and leaned forward to let her hear him better. "Hey, they're the best names any person or firearm can have, so don't even try to make so much as a joke about either of them." His voice was dead serious, and very protective. 

Trish was taken aback by Dante's sudden outburst. If she didn't know any better, she could have sworn passion was burning in his eyes for that moment. "They must mean a lot to you..." 

Sliding back into his seat, his pale eyes looked out the window again. "I wouldn't be who I am if it weren't for them." 

A long silence invaded the air between them. Trish locked her questions in her throat, waiting for Dante to answer without her. She learned from the past to never ask him about his history, he guarded that fiercely... but sometimes, it was as if he didn't have the answer to reply. 

Reading her mind, Dante allowed her to reminisce with him of the old times of what he could remember. 

********************** 

The bells hanging over the front entranced chimed as it was knocked side to side by the door. A silver haired man all in white with an equally white-haired young boy entered the hallway. The little boy ran across the building, holding a paper with a giant "A" stamped on it. "Ebony, Ebony!" he shouted across the hallway to the main office of their home. 

Flowers and paintings lined the walls with swords, rifles and crossbows lining the walls in alternate patterns. Even pictures scribbled by a child hung between the little niches of renaissance art and instruments of war. The juxtapositions of gruesome, killer weapons, fragrant flowers and crayon drawings of stickmen weren't exactly what one expected at an office run by devil hunters. The only place that looked traditional was the fireplace where Force Edge hung in a solemn slumber. 

"Hey kid!" The woman dressed in black leather laid her dried roses on the desk and greeted the boy with open arms, "How was school today?" Her green eyes shown bright and enhanced even more by her smile as she ruffled his hair. 

Dante took off his backpack to the side and brushed his hair down with his hand, "It was booorring... But guess what I got!!" He held up the paper in his hand to Ebony, his chest puffed out proud. 

Ebony looked over the paper and her smile widened even more, "An 'A' on your spelling test... I'm impressed." She leaned down on one knee and brushing away his silver bangs hanging loosely on his face, kissed him on his forehead, "I told you all that studying would pay off." 

Ivory walked into the room, sliding off his trench coat and taking a seat near the entrance, "And he couldn't stop talking about the deal we made." He shrugged playfully to his love and reached out to his sword resting against the desk. 

"Ahh, the deal..." She looked down at a very eager Dante, "I dunno kid, I still think you're too young to start..." And she was right to be hesitant, he was only ten years old to be learning such things... but then, he wasn't an ordinary ten year old either. 

"But you promised!" The little boy whined, crossing his arms and his bottom lip swelling to a pout. "And you said, 'never break a promise or the Devil gains another soul'." 

"He's got you there, love." Chimed the usually quiet man, unsheathing the giant broadsword from its wyvern-hide scabbard, "And with our line of work, it'll be a way to protect himself." He unravelled the cotton cloth wrapped around the brown scabbard and polished the worn blade. 

Her eyes travelled from her love to her child still pouting at her. There were times she knew she was spoiling the kid, but she was too weak to say no to that look. "Alright..." she mumbled as she searched for her twin guns beneath the chaos of paper. Stacks of notes, flower petals, takeouts and pictures Dante drew in art class scattered all over. Flipping over yesterday's pizza box, she found her magnums, sleeping silently in their holsters. She removed one of them from its slumber and pulled out the cartridge, making sure no bullets were inside. "Well kid, here." She offered the empty gun to Dante, "I still think you're too young for this." 

"Weren't you six years old when you held your first gun?" Ivory teased from his base at his chair, still polishing away the entire length of the blade. 

Ebony glared at him with irritating force, "Well my parents didn't know shit back then... And YOU'RE not helping. What if he grows up to be a gun-wielding maniac havinging a thrill-of-the-hunt lust for blood-- " She stopped mid-sentence when she saw that look on Dante's face. The "oh please!" look he always made when she ranted on like this. "...never mind." 

Dante carefully took the magnum, not letting his excitement get the best of him. It wasn't heavy at all as he expected, mainly due to his above-human strength. He stared at the firearm with awe. The black steel showed signs of age and years of usage. Deep scratches, streaks of black imprinted by the constant expulsion of bullets, but the personalized devil runes etched on both sides remained as fresh as the day Ebony carved them. Her knowledge in the black arts gave her quite an advantage in battle; the runes were her own personal spell that would allow unlimited bullets from a single cartridge. She was a deadly force to face. 

Dante wanted to be like that. To have that kind of power, to be a Hunter. To hunt down the demons creating the wrongs in the world, especially wrongs made on him. "Do I just hold it out...like this?" Tiny arms stretched out slowly, balancing the gun with both hands with surprising ease. 

Kneeling beside him, Ebony cupped her hand around the boy's and helped him aim at a solitary red rose hanging on the fireplace mantle. "Seeing your opponent is useless when fighting a demon kid. They have magic, strength and agility that can far surpass any human..." But then, Dante wasn't normal... "...or half-human. You have to rely on your other instincts. But to trust those instincts, you have to understand your gun." Light illuminated the outline of the black magnum, still pointing at the rose that seemed to be drooping, trying to edge away from being targeted. That same light illuminated another metal hanging over it. 

Pale green eyes shifted upward to catch the sword overlooking the rose. 

"And the best way to understand your gun is to know how it's created..." 

_That_ sword... 

"...to understand how each part is melded together to make a whole..." 

Memories that seemed nothing but a dream, nothing but a horrible nightmare... 

"...because if even one part, no matter how small, or how insignificant it may seem ..." 

Always _that_ sword prevailing in blood... 

"...if that part is missing or misused..." 

With _that_ monster wielding it in lust... 

"...it could mean life or death in a hunt..." 

An unfathomed hatred thrived in his mind, a feeling that became instinct. Something faint, something... unreal clawed his unconsciousness... something-- 

_CLICK... CLICK CLICK CLICK--_

Dante pulled the trigger in rapid succession, his now sharp green eyes staring at the sword. Bewildered by the sudden aggression, Ebony took hold of the gun but the trigger continued its monotone melody. "Kid...Dante..." A sliver of panic slipped into her voice. 

A large, white-gloved hand easily pushed the gun down while the other gloved hand gently shaked the boy, "DANTE!" Ivory's conquering voice penetrated through the boy's trance, blinking his way back to reality. 

The large, pale green eyes returned to see nothing but concerned and worried looks on two familiar faces. Their eyes were locked on to him, and he wondered why. "Uh...what?.... D, did I do something wrong?..." He recoiled back, letting Ebony take the gun from his hands. 

"No...no." Wiping away her concern, she ruffle his hair again and showered him with her smile, "Everything's just fine, kid." 

The phone rang in the distant back ground for her and Ivory knew she wanted to be with the boy for a bit. He answered the phone in silence, making the caller take the initiative of speaking. After a few mumbles of yes and nods, he hung up the phone. His blue eyes landed on his partner, "Password." 

And password meant a hunt. 

"Can I come too?" Dante face lit up sheepishly, hoping this time that they would agree. 

Red lips lopping to one side, she gently tapped his cheek with the whole of her hand, "What do you think?" 

"I know I know, 'not until I'm older'..." He slowly picked up his backpack, tapped a kiss on the huntress' cheek and headed for his upstairs bedroom. "Have fun guys..." 

Ivory hooked his sword on his back and extended a hand to Ebony, helping her stand up. Both waved to their boy, although Dante still seemed to look slumped. "Don't worry Dante. I'll teach you swordsmanship after we come back." After that remark, the boy's feet started to flutter up the stairs in excitement. 

"And do your homework!" Ebony hated to nag, but it became instinct to her since she and Ivory took Dante in as their own. 

As soon as the click of the door shut upstairs echoed down, her face changed from protective mother to wrathful hunter. 

The towering man of white started first, "He lapsed again..." His hand automatically brushed against the woman's shoulder. He knew that look. It was the same one as that day her life was ripped apart. 

Green eyes leered to the sword hanging over the mantle and hatred for it bloomed in her heart. If Dante despised it with all his soul, so would she. "I want that sword away from him." Black gloves balled into fists. It wasn't a request, it was an order, and no one dared to disobey her. If they did, she'd make sure they would never disobey again. 

Demons have begged, lamented, prayed for mercy before she would silence them forever in a sea of showering blood. 

**********************

"....so they taught you everything?" The earl grey was cooled to ice when Trish sipped it again. 

"Most, but of course I added my own flair for that extra boost of style." That smug, cocky grin plastered his face again. 

Trish rolled her eyes in response to his less than graceful charisma. She saw that look too many times to count and while most other girls would swoon, she developed a thick immunity to it. But her focus wasn't on that. The story... something didn't seem right. There were... loopholes, gaps percolating the memory, but sounded perfectly reasonable to Dante. Not being able to remember what he was aiming at was understandable, but he didn't even question why he "felt dizzy" when he held the gun. He assumed from the excitement of holding one, but even he didn't sound convinced. 

The world outside was pitch black save the streetlights faintly illuminating the streets. "We should get going." Trish slipped into her black leather jacket, the length of it draping around her legs, "And you can tell me more of your 'wonder years' along the --" 

"AHHH!!! HE---LP!!" 

A scream penetrated into the diner. The two hunters immediate jumped outside only to find silence. Nothing was stirring in the streets; even the air seemed frozen in time. 

"HEEELP!!" 

A woman's scream, and Dante recognized it. The echoes originated from behind the diner, with the only way to access it from outside through the single alleyway. Without a word both sprinted through the dark corridor, their exceptional eyesights compensating for the lack of light guiding the way. 

Chirpings of rats, mews of cats and their own footsteps rippled down the alley. And the alley way much longer than they thought. Puddles filled with... with whatever alleys were filled with flooded the narrow passage. The stench and the slop decorating the floor kept one thing nagged at Dante, to clean his boots when he got home. Trish didn't bother to think about her heels sinking into the viscous mud, her instincts told her to focus on her surroundings. The night felt aggressive, like eyes probing them two for the perfect moment to strike, and a distant clicking sound added to the splash of water. 

Those clicks reached Dante's ears; there was a stench of dried blood in the air. He turned around, staring down the alley entrance. Trish followed his glare, and she didn't have to look long. 

Two tall, lanky figures each more vibrantly covered than the other, wobbled out of the darkness like drunken businessmen. Each oversized hand carried circular blades while feathers danced on their helmets. "Fetishes." Trish took the honour of speaking the demons' name. 

Dante remembered the Marionette's relatives clearly from his last meeting with them, and only one thought prevailed whenever he chanced upon one, "Ever wonder _why_ they're called 'Fetish'?" 

If he paid attention, he would have noticed Trish shiver, and it wasn't because of the stinging night air. "You do NOT want to know..." The stories and rumours about the... _unique_ acts Fetishes performed was enough to make anyone's skin crawl, human and devil alike. One of the demons stepped forward, raising its blade to strike. Trish accepted the challenge and extended her leg forward, letting an electric spark dance around her fingertip. "I'll take care of these two." 

A slight nod and with his crimson coat flowing behind him, Dante sprinted further down the alley. She was more than adept in taking care of herself. His legs slowed down as he approached a corner and leaned back against a wall. Taking aide in the side of caution, he unconsciously reached over his shoulder to grab... air? "Crap..." Automatically he reached under his coat to behind his waist and took out... more air? "Shit." No weapons made Dante very agitated. No weapons were equivalent to walking around naked in his mind. 

But what did it matter? It's probably another Fetish, wandering into the wrong alley at the wrong time taking a bite out of the wrong person. Raising a hand to his chest, he felt the cold metal dangling from his neck. At least he didn't forget everything. He expelled a grunt, and turned around the corner to the opening all the while cracking his fingers into place. 

"Well well, who'd be crazy enough to rough around with my fave little waitress?" Dante manoeuvred around the lights emanating from the diner's back door. He wouldn't let the poor sap see him yet. But it was also hard for him to see the demon holding Loraine hostage, except for a massive glowing red line. The tip sharpened down to a nasty little point with blades extending from the sides, over the tip and down almost half way of the stiff line. From what he could interpret, Dante assumed it was a lance of some sort. 

Loraine shifted her eyes to the man in red, but the blade pointing much to close to her neck limited her movement. "Dante!" 

The creature holding her shifted its red eyes to the man he was looking for. "You've screamed well my lady." It spoke in an unexpectedly refined matter; it was smooth, gentle, yet dominating at the same time with no trace of coarseness. Much to Loraine's surprise, the red blade fell from her neck to her capturer's side. "I have no qualms with you; you're free to go." It stepped back, slightly bowing to show its sincerity. 

Dante caught the bow with the help of the radiating red light from the lance, and it was an unexpected gesture. His body tensed when he heard light footsteps heading towards him, but relaxed again when he saw brown hair bobbing up and down. "Loraine!" She lunged on his arm, firmly latching onto him. Dante faltered back a step from the unexpected grip; she was heavier than she looked. "Hey don't worry, just go back through the diner and head straight home." Moments passed, and just when he thought she was permanently glued to him, the dainty hands finally loosened. Still sniffling, the waitress nodded silently and ran, turning back just long enough to mouth "thanks Dante" and disappeared through the door. Now, he could pay full attention to his opponent. "Just like a demon picking on defenceless girls. You really should try to get a fresh cliche." 

"As they say, old habits die-hard." The voice was definitely masculine. The creature walked forward, closing in to look down on the platinum haired man. "It's been a while little hunter." 

Been a while?...... LITTLE?! Dante didn't like that one bit. "Who're you calling little when you're the freak of nature here?" The creature stopped just two strides away from the half-human, letting him take a closer look. 

Dante looked up, way up. The creature, a humanoid, was at least two feet taller, and much bigger overall. His body was encased in armour made out of what looked like demon bones. The red cape behind him held a slight luminescent glow with a blue spine snaking down in the middle of the delicate fabric. Glowing red lines wrapped around the body like blood vessels, with the crowning touch on the demon's head where four horns sprouted. Two spiralled back and turned upwards while the other two curled to the front but gave a clear view for his red eyes. There was something very familiar about him. The black armour was too much like _his_... Too much like... 

"...Virgil?" Dante didn't realize he uttered his brother's name. He knew it wasn't him, the face... or the mask was the same, but there was a much different aura around this dark figure. 

The mysterious demon simply chuckled, "You wish." The red eyes probed at the man before him, tilting his head to the side. "No sword, no guns... Defenceless yourself, don't you think?" The red lance twisted in his giant hand, it's length equal to his height. It wasn't the man's weaponry he was interested in. No, his eyes were set on the jewel, the amulet hanging from his neck. 

"Hey, I AM a weapon." Dante raised his bare fists, taking a boxing stance before the giant. Hand to hand combat wasn't exactly his best fighting method, he was a swordsman and gunman at heart. He'd have to deal without Ifrit tonight. 

"Hand to hand combat? With a Knight?" That was too much of a joke for the devil. Shaking his head, he took the giant lance, flipped the point towards the ground and stabbed it through the earth. "Show me what you've got boy." 

Not bothering to respond to the taunts, Dante lunged forward driving his fist into the pit of the devil's stomach. A bone-crushing crack rippled down his arm and he immediately faltered backward wincing in pain. The skin on his knuckles was scraped off, blood already covering the wounds. Dante stared at his hand, then to the knight's stomach. Nothing, not even a crack on the armour. 

"Don't be disappointed, most blades can't penetrate this armour." 

Dante wouldn't accept that. Standing upright again, he raged his other fist against the knight. But the devil was well prepared and countered with a swift jab, wrapping his metal fingers around the delicate skin of his opponent's neck and slammed him onto the stale brick wall. The wall shook from the impact and Dante failed to let out a cry of pain as the fingers cut off the air to his lungs. The devil lifted him to his eye level, red eyes staring at green. 

The knight grunted, half amused, half disappointed that it was much too easy. His free hand flowed directly to the perfect amulet, observing how tiny it looked in the palm of his hand. "I need to borrow this for a moment." Snaring it in his fingers, the devil ripped the amulet from Dante's neck, his cries still muted. The metal fingers released their grip, letting Dante slip down past to the ground, coughing and wheezing for air. 

The devil knight casually walked to his lance and dropped the amulet on the ground beside it. Dante caught enough air to regulate his breathing. He rubbed the back of his neck where the metal chain dug into before it snapped. Hazily, he lifted his head to the dark figure, raising the red lance over his head, pointing it directly at the amulet. "That's mine!!" Forgetting about his aches, Dante vaulted towards his cherished memento, his bloody hand reaching while the lance started to fall on its target. 

He landed on his chest, his hand locked onto the amulet, but there wasn't time to evade the blade. The knight drove the lance with all his might, piercing through skin, muscle, bone and finally... 

As soon as the jewel cracked into shards under the mutilated hand, a loud, deafening screech pierced against the half-human's eardrums. Dante fiercely gripped his head with his free hand, wincing and crying out not from the pain in his hand, but the throbbing in his head. His brain felt like it was being clawed apart into a million scraps. Dante was in pain, but the knight just stood still, as if he didn't hear anything but Dante's wailing. Thankfully, the pain didn't last long. Just as quickly as it started, the shriek stopped leaving its victim to catch more breaths. 

Extracting the lance from the hand and stone, the knight lifted it up in the air again. Maybe a little "scratch" on his face will help the boy relax a little... 

"Get the hell away from him!" 

A surge of gold lightning pounded on the devil, pushing him off balanced by the unexpected attack. Trish jumped to Dante's side, helping him up to his knees. Both looked up to see the knight falter backwards, the electricity still lingering around him. 

"A full devil?" The knight muttered, and without another word, he leapt over onto the rooftops, and disappeared into the night. 

Trish turned to the man in her arms. The palm of his hand was torn from the jagged teeth of the lance's blades, and slivers of fading stones etched into the exposed flesh. In the bloody hand was a metal frame that once held a magnificent jewel. 

"Oh Dante..." Trish looked from the amulet to the owner's face. Those pale, empty green eyes stared at the hand, and what it held. His breaths became deathly silent. "....Dante?" Trish asked again, hoping for a reaction. 

But Dante was frozen. He was angry, humiliated, defeated... confused. That shriek, that scream... It played through his head over and over. 

A distant memory... A forgotten dream... 

He heard it before. 

He knew that voice. 

_........Mother?!_

* * *

Some of you (may) have been wondering if the whole Ebony & Ivory thing is true. And the answer is, no. It's my completely warped idea, although there is an official background story of why/how the guns were named Ebony & Ivory (either as an in-game story or just how the creators came up with it), don't expect me to explain (yet?). If I did, it would COMPLETELY undermine this story. So I'll shut up about it now... 

On a selfish promotional note, I've just opened my new site featuring fanart. I have a handful of DMC art up there so if you'd like to take a peek, you can enter the site through my ff.net profile :) 


	3. Chapter 3: Dream

Disclaimer: Devil May Cry is the property of Capcom. The plot and the original characters, mine.  
  
Argh, I want to say sorry for those of you who waited for this chapter :( It's hard to keep constantly writing when I get distracted. Blarg, some explanations are at the end, for now, on with the story. 

* * *

**Chapter 3: Dream**  
By Cloud Ishida

Neither devil hunter mouthed a word on the way home. One was about to implode with questions drilling into her brain while the other drowned himself in introspection. 

The blood soaked through the off-white gauze wrapped around his tattered hand. Back at the diner, the rescued waitress eagerly helped clean the wound with the diner's dust-covered first aid kit while Trish, armed with tweezers, picked out the slivers of precious stone lodged into the patient's hand. He held the broken amulet tightly around his other hand, but he didn't seem to notice his cracked bones glistening under the dim light, nor the stings of muscle hanging by strands where the red spear penetrated. 

His heart was too saddened by another wound; one more valuable than the body's well being. 

The hum of the red sign over their shack of a building was still holding its steady melody while small visiting insects were attracted to the dark red illumination. Dante clutched the entrance's handle and abruptly twisted it letting the creaks echo through the street. Trish followed behind. Her eyes fell on the handle, now painted in blood. The gauze wasn't doing its job very well. 

He threw his long, crimson jacket to his chair behind his desk while Trish manually hung it on hers. He hadn't spoken a word since the fight and it was beginning to gnaw at her. All she saw was Dante lying on the ground while clutching his head in what looked like extreme pain, that black knight on the verge of stabbing him in the face, and the notion that the appearance of that demon seemed all to familiar with another she knew. Nero Angelo decorated himself with similar magnificent armour much like the black knight, and the cape bearing an uncanny resemblance too. She knew Dante had a similar notion, along with the fact that his most treasured heirloom was crushed under his ha-- 

"Shit." 

Trish woke from her thoughts, "What?" It wasn't exactly the word she expected to first leave her partner's mouth. 

Dante stood with his back against her, his eyes piercing the wall that held his array of weaponry covering his personally handpicked posters. The grenade launcher, shotgun, needle gun and Nightmare-β slumbered in their respective shelves. On the wall, two swords and a pair of gloves hung like ornaments. Alastor and Ifrit's engraved eyes were dulled to a scaly black under the room's lights, as if they were hibernating after their previous, vicious battle. But none of these weapons were the object of their master's discontent. 

His eyes were locked on the sword above Alastor. Instead of Sparda resting on the altar, Force Edge was in its place. 

Trish walked up beside him, following her partner's green eyes to the weapon that wasn't suppose to be there. "But...how?" 

He spat to the side, obviously displeased with the currently situation. "Force Edge changed into Sparda when the amulet was whole... Since it's now nothing but a worthless rock the damn sword probably couldn't hold its shape." His bandaged hand curled into a fist relaying a striking jolt of pain down his arm. No whimper left his mouth to relieve the pain. "......" 

Not just his mother's amulet, even his father's sword faded away from him. _What am I suppose to say?..._ The question ran through Trish's head. "Maybe we can fix the amulet--" 

"Fix it with what?! You can't just fix a two thousand year old rock with glue and tape you know!!" _What kind of stupid question is that? Of all the things to-- _ Without realizing that his hand was already raised in the air, Dante hurled the broken amulet at Force Edge and split into two halves once again. Upon impact, not a crack, but a tiny scream echoed from the ancient blade. 

That silent shriek... His eyes widened at that familiar sound again, the one that rippled through his head earlier that night. Trish just stood, stunned by what just occurred. Blue eyes darted back and forth from the blade to the silver-haired man with his own bewildered expression. His mouth was hanging and his eyes blinked just once. He just threw his mother and brother's gift as if it was a piece of trash... But what's more, the look on his face... She never saw that look of fear on his face before. 

"Did you hear that?..." He whispered, almost too quietly. 

"Of course! You threw it hard enough to rattle the whole building." Trish turned her attention back to Force Edge, now with a faint scar on its flat side of the blade where the amulet made contact. 

"What?...No, I mean a voice..." He rubbed his neck with his non-bandaged hand, hoping that he wasn't hearing things. 

Staying silent for a moment, Trish waited to catch a sound of any kind. But the room was unnaturally quiet, as if the night itself was afraid to blow a soft breeze in fear of waking a horrible monster. "No I didn't..." Now Trish was getting really worried, "Are you alright Dante?" Maybe the thought of the only memento of his mother broken was weighing too much on his mind. 

Dante scrutinized from the broken amulet to Trish. Didn't hear anything? But he could have sworn that... Or...or, maybe he didn't hear... But... "...nevermind." No, it was nothing. Nothing at all. So... why were his instincts telling him otherwise? He needed to clear his head of that amulet and the knight who defeated him all too easily. "I need a shower." Taking one last look at the sword and necklace, Dante headed to the corridor in smooth strides. 

Trish watched him until he disappeared through the corridor, until the sounds of footsteps climbing stairs and a door screeching open echoed through the office. A heavy sigh of disappointment escaped her lungs. The night was going so well; he talked more about his past than she ever expected and this had to happen. It was made worse by the fact Dante didn't care to explain what happened, and now he's hearing things? 

As her fingers entangled the shattered amulets, dull grooves alerted her to an engraving on their backs. She flipped both amulets over to inspect them. On one amulet read, "To my beloved children" while on the other, "Virgil and Dante". The hole where the spear had penetrated separated the two children's names like an omen told too late. She remembered the day Dante read his and Virgil's half as a whole. A bittersweet smile laced his lips as he whispered the message. Manoeuvring around the mounds of waste cluttered on the floor, Trish took it to her desk and placed both amulets inside her main drawer. If she knew her partner well, he wouldn't want to see it in its state again anytime soon. 

All that emotion and passion over someone dead for twenty years, it sounded like a foolish sentiment to the inexperienced. _Foolish, yet profound,_ Trish thought. There were times when she wondered about her day to feel the same fire. Would she ever have someone she would love and cherish the way Dante dotes over his family? After all, she didn't truly have a family to begin with. Mundus created her from the bones and flesh of fallen devils and demons with the skin of a human being. The only one she has a real attachment to was Dante, or at least it seemed that way. 

A devil living in the human world was not an easy task. They have the gift of long life, but humble needs have a way of sucking the joys of longevity. It's a wonder, she thought, how the Legendary Dark Knight Sparda lived so long in the world of light for two thousand years, at least before meeting the woman he married. Could she survive that long in a world that despises darkness with such vehemoth? Did Sparda experience the have the same apprehension? So many questions with no answer to a single one. 

But then, she had answers available in her hands, at least in the form of a book. "Don't you dare think about reading it Trish," she scolded herself. It wasn't just Sparda's, but Dante's diary too, and reading it would be a breach of trust. But curiosity was getting the best of her again. 

Trish closed her drorer, and headed upstairs where sound of the shower echoed the room. Trish headed for her bed, and looked over at the couch. Call it chivalry or manners, but Dante decided Trish would get the bed, and him, the couch. And it was easy to see who had which. Dante's clothes sprawled on the couch while Trish's sheets were absent of even a single wrinkle. 

Then her eyes wandered to the bookshelf. Biting her lip, she headed towards the shelves and ran her fingers down the line of books to the La Divinia Commedia. Gingerly, she took it out and reached behind it to retrieve the diary from the darkness. By instinct, Trish turned to the bathroom door to make sure she wasn't being watched, then headed for her bed. 

Already her fingers searched for pages on Sparda's writings. It was hard to find the transition of life she wanted to understand in the entries; all of Sparda's writings were dated according to the Underworld years. Deciding to forget about the dates, Trish stopped at a random page. 

_ 2nd Moon (Copper), 74 401Yr, ADA _

Two months after arriving to Italy from Japan, I found myself amazed by the little things. Festivals everyday, and the most aromatic cuisine that has even absorbed me to start cooking. I can't think of any other place to call home. The people here have accepted me with open arms, though I do wonder, if they saw my true form and sins, would fear cloud their eyes and hearts... Pessimism seems to be my specialty. 

An unexpected discovery today while attending a violin concerto. Of all the pieces of music, I never expected Mundus' personally composed piece to be preformed, while the audience gasped at its demonic yet exquisite melody. "Il trillo del Diavolo" composed by a human named Tartini. An appropriate title indeed. Mundus may have been insane with power but he did have a taste, and talent, for music. 

Trish stopped halfway and turned to another page. The amount of trivial details Sparda wrote made him sounds like a child giggling in delight in a giant candy store. He sounded generally happy, but she didn't want comments on the arts and literature, she wanted to know how he survived in the human world. Skipping ahead and skimming through the pages while hiding the diary behind the covers of the Commedia text, she came upon a name she heard of before... 

_ 13th Moon (Silver), 74 425Yr, ADA _

I felt the Hell's Gate at the Pantheon opened for a moment... How the humans have managed to build a building able to hold a perfect magic circle is remarkable... and troublesome at the same time. It was a small disturbance, but big enough for one demon...or a devil, to pass through... An uneasy premonition. I fear it may be my sins coming back to haunt me. 

I have much to worry if Abigor has found his way here... 

Trish raised an eyebrow. _Abigor?_ She overheard Mundus bellow that name once before. Could it be the same person? Not that it mattered; she could care less about that now that she's free from the dark emperor's control. Getting impatient with the "small talk" writings, she flipped ahead twenty years later to a page covered with blotches of brown stains and the handwriting expressing chaos. Instead of the refined and articulate letters, slurred and messy writings were scribbled in fury. 

_ 13moon gold _

Why did i even both with these pathetic humans.... i thought i saved a world of light and hope but all i see is their pointless wars and hate. russia italy germany america...all these so-called great countries racing to kill each other. everyday i hunt more and more demons yet... am i killing the right ones? what if the devils aren't the evil plaguing this world...but these wretched humans-- maybe i shouldn't be here at all... those i've thought as dear friends have left me. could it be mundus was right...that humanity is doomed to destruction so why bother saving it at all?... 

Wretched humans? Trish didn't expect this kind of talk from a knight of legend who supposedly took pity on humanity. The despair and loathing etched onto the paper had an aura of resentment. All signs from this entry pointed to the idea of Sparda living to the point of regretting to save an entire species. She furled her eyebrows, contemplating the thought. If someone as great as Sparda could fall, then she could fall all too easily. 

Her blue eyes trailed from the book to the single window of the bedroom. Unexpectedly, her thoughts turned to her partner. Dante seemed to be closed to the world, isolated and alone. Other than work, he was mostly anti-social... not that that seemed impossible to fathom. _Maybe,_ she thought, _maybe it's the curse all demons and devils must endure to live in the Upperworld... _

"I thought you'd be dead asleep by now." Steam emptied into the bedroom from the bathroom with Dante standing in the doorway. His fully healed hand mopped his hair with a small towel while his other hand held onto a larger one wrapped around his waist. The moisture left by the contact of steam and skin latched onto his body, helping to define his perfected physique. 

"Thought I'd catch up on some literature." Her voice was steady and calm, raising the Divine Comedy to show Dante while hiding the diary behind it. If she was nervous, she didn't show it. 

Dante recognized the cover instantly, "I never did finish reading that." Which was a shame, he thought. He always did wanted to know what was so great about the story to be named after the protagonist. Throwing the smaller towel over to his couch, he reached for his red pants and went back inside the bathroom. Moments later he came out again, half dressed this time. His eyes wandered to the clock and around the bedroom. It was nearly impossible to see the floor under the junk on his half of the room while Trish's side looked as if it was brand new. 

Trish caught the look of irritation on Dante's face. "Forget about cleaning. It's late and you should rest after all that's happened tonight." 

He grunted in response as he waded through the debris and sat down on the sofa, pulling a folded blanket towards himself. His head landed on the pillow resting at the end nearest to the bed and brushed his damp hair away from his eyes with lazy hands. "I'll be dreaming how to dismember that devil freak to have a good night's sleep." 

The truth was, his mind was preoccupied more with that scream. It wasn't much that his precious amulet was broken, though it was enough for him to rampage through the streets bloodthirsty for the assailant's head. The question was why that knight was so interested in it... and most of all why that scream? Why was he the only one who seemed to have heard it? He knew his mother's voice well and there was no mistaking in his mind that it was her voice he heard clawing in his head. Just hearing the voice again, the familiar sound of pain... It made his chest heavy with burden. 

Heavy with guilt. 

"Dante, I'm sure we can fix the amulet...somehow. One thing I learned from you, you always manage to make the impossible become reality." She hoped that would cheer him up a bit. 

"Hngh." Well, he was slightly amused. "I always knew you thought of me as perfect." 

Trish rolled her eyes in a playful gesture and leaned back onto her pillow, "Shut up and sleep. You have guests tomorrow, remember?" 

Dante almost forgot about that. "Wake me up by noon." he grumbled out, and pulled the grey blanket closer, curling up underneath it. A yawn escaped his soft lips as his body started to relax over the tattered cushions. His eyes were extra heavy tonight, and even unconsciously surprised himself on how fast he dozed off. Maybe by tomorrow, the echoes of that scream will fade with the sunrise. 

"Noon? Just when are your friends coming anyway?" Trish waited for an answer but all she received was silence. "Dante?" Funny, it usually took him at least half an hour to settle down and drift into sleep. Maybe this night was a bit more overwhelming than she thought. But that was an unexpected welcome for her. Now she could read the diary without worry over being discovered. Though, the pang of guilt was still lodged in the back of her brain, she still had the craving to go on. To absorb as much information as possible. Trish let out a sigh. That stupid guilt was eating a part of her for invading the intimacy of Dante's thoughts, his family's thoughts. So, to alleviate some of the guilt, she decided to avoid reading Dante's entries as much as possible. After all, Sparda was dead, so it wouldn't hurt reading about his thoughts.... right? 

==============================================

_ you can't destroy me... _

".......who's there?...." The world around him concealed itself in darkness. 

you can't deny me... 

"....who are you?...." His voice quivered by what his heart remembers. 

the chains are broken... 

"Show yourself!!" Fists clenched and eyes bared with frightened anger. 

i can hunt again... 

"Who.... What are you talking about?! Who are you?!!" He faltered backwards, one step at a time.. 

heaven will scream, hell will mourn 

"...shut up...." He gripped his ears crushing his lobes, hoping to block out that familiar voice. 

mother's prayer stained in blood 

"SHUT UP!!!.......... W, wha....?!" A spotlight stained the darkness before him, revealing a scene of a distant memory, a forgotten dream... 

"...M..Mother?...." A noblewoman's body, flailing in midair. Her neck without a head, releasing a river of blood. And a sword... That terrifying sword finishing its arc that sliced cleanly through the delicate neck. The holder of that sword was bathed in shadows, faceless and small... 

It was a photograph capturing his hell on Earth. 

"..oh god........stop it..." He cupped his mouth, feeling his innards squeezing in horror. 

you can't deny what you are, what we are 

"SHUT UP!!! STOP IT, PLEASE!!!" One by one drops of tears glided down his cheeks. 

"My child...." A familiar voice beckoned to him. 

"....Mother?" A delicate, pale hand cupped his red cheeks, stroking them tenderly. 

"My sweet child..." Droplets fell on the silver hair, on the red cheeks. 

"Mother...." He looked up to capture his Mother's expression of love and affection. The one he missed seeing for twenty years. The one that-- "...no..No.......LET ME GO!!!" 

The droplets continued its shower over the man, showering him in pure red. The hands feathering his cheeks belonging to a headless woman with a blood overflowing from her neck. 

"Dante..." Echoed the familiar voice. 

"NOO!!!! STOP IT, PLEASE!!!" His body curled instinctively, his hands clutching his head, "...noo...mommy...." 

"Dante..." 

Dante....... 

====================================================

"DANTE!" 

"WHA--!?!" Dante sat up straight so fast that his forehead collided with Trish's, sending him back down to his pillow and Trish gripping the sofa. 

"OW!!" She flung her head back and rubbed her temple furiously, hoping a bruise wasn't starting to develop. "This is the last time I'm being your alarm clock!" Once the initial pain declined, Trish shifted her attention to her partner, and stared at something she never expected to ever see. 

His eyes were dilated, wide open, and unmistakably filled with terror. Moisture encased his body, making him shiver from the cool air. The sweat-soaked chest moved up and down in rapid succession. 

Trish had never seen such an expression from Dante. "...Dante? Are you alright?..." 

He blinked under her voice and his hand lifted to probe his sweat soaked temple. "...Ow..." was all he could say. Dizziness and fatigue wouldn't let him elaborate any more. 

Trish couldn't help but grunt from his first morning word, "You had me worried... Is something wrong? You look pale..." 

Green eyes closed again, trying to contemplate the images that laced his head just mere seconds ago. "I, I'm fine..." He looked as if he was having a hangover, and a severe one at that. 

"It's 3:30 in the afternoon... I tried to wake you earlier but you kept sleeping... I thought you were in a coma for a while..." Crystal blue eyes probed the man on the sofa, observing that his shaking was diminishing. "And the last few minutes, you looked as if you were having a nightmare..." 

_Nightmare?_ It was more than a nightmare... It felt all too real and... and as if he lived through it before in another time. "It's nothing." He attempted to sit up again, slowly this time. The palm of his hands felt damp from the sweat. God he felt so dizzy and tired, but it was already passed 3 o'clock and... ".... 3:30?! They'll be here any minute!" Despite the queasiness, Dante managed to jump off the couch and scatter around the room for garments to wear but whatever he did find, they weren't washed recently, "Dammit, aren't there any clean clothes around here?!" 

Still rubbing her forehead, Trish sighed and smirked at him, "I told you to clean up the place once in a while." She watched as he went through every t-shirt on the floor, grumbling out curses whenever he found an imperfection. During his frantic search, Trish couldn't help but be somewhat amazed how fashion conscious he was being than normal. Maybe a little suggestion might help, "Why don't you just wear what you always wear?" She lifted his red, long jacket and vest with her lips curling in amusement, "You always look very handsome in it." 

Dante looked over his shoulder and lifted an eyebrow. "Why Trish, can you get by one day without flirting with me?" he mused as he walked towards his partner's offer. 

"I guess it's in my blood to tease." One by one Trish threw the crimson wardrobe to Dante as he entered the bathroom. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say the new Legendary Dark Knight is trying to impress his long time friends." It was an amusing thought of someone so strong and cocky being easily timid by two normal human beings. She assumed it was a parent-child sort of custom she'd never understand. 

Behind a closed door, Dante took care of his dental hygiene and slipped into his regular hunting attire, making sure all his belts were buckled in place and wrinkles in the fabric smoothed out. Next his attention wandered to his hair that was standing up on its ends thanks to sleeping with wet hair. Damping his hands under the cold running water, he manoeuvred his fingers through his platinum hair and styled it to its usual layered-self until he was satisfied with what he saw in the mirror. But he caught the slight bags under his eyes, and weariness on his face. Dreams can have that affect on him. 

Shoving the nightmare to the back of his mind, he stepped out of the bathroom, and stuck a pose for Trish to judge, "So, how do I look?" 

Trish managed to hold back a laugh, "Like an overly stylish fool who's too cocky for his own good. You look perfect." Dante grunted in response, but liked her answer. For herself, she still wore leather head to toe, her pants hugging her legs tight as ever and the top still managing to barely cling on to her bosom. "So when are they supposed to come?" 

"Like, now..." His eyes caught the clock on the table beside the bed. 3:43... "...Maybe there's still time to clean up everything..." All eyes surveyed the room and it looked as if the mess tripled its size. "...or not." 

Without thinking, Dante pulled out his black gloves and slipped them on one at a time, but his hands and fingers didn't stop; he instinctively searched for his amulet. He was fidgeting, a result of his...nervousness? _Dante, nervous?_ Trish observed, _Is that even possible?_ "Let's just go wait downstairs... And relax." She walked behind and lightly pushed Dante down the stairs to the office where it still looked like a tornado passed through it, twice. 

_Knock knock knock_

Just as they stepped into the office, someone knocked on the door. "Hn, nice timing." Trish mumbled. 

"I'll get it." Dante announced, and proceeded to tend to his clothes and hair one last time before heading towards the door. "You know, so they won't think they have the wrong place." He picked up his handguns from his desk and holstered them under his coat. 

Leaning against her desk, Trish tilted her head to the side, "Riiight, it's easy to miss 'Devil Never Cry' in bright red neon lights, the ONLY devil hunting business in town." 

"It must be in your blood to be a smart-ass, too." He smirked and turned his attention to the door. 

_Knock knock knock_

Taking a deep, anxious breath, Dante slowly but surely twisted the rusty knob and opened the door. 

A man clothed entirely in white, with trench coat, business suit, tie and all stood next to a woman dressed entirely in black leather that screamed 'biker babe'. The man was very tall, taller than Dante, and his pure white hair styled back leaving tufts of hair hanging on his forehead. The refined business suit underneath his coat made him give off an aura of light under the afternoon sun while behind him, a handle of a sword sprouted into view. The woman dressed very much like Dante, down to the gloves and belt. A plain short jacket while her belt held two holders for her twin guns. Her eyes were hidden behind sunglasses and she held what looked like a long, thin black cane without a curved handle. One hand wrapped around the tall man's arm while her long braided hair dangled behind her. 

The man was the first to exchange words, "Took you long enough." 

"Ivory, Ebony!" Dante's face lighted up with a giant smile like he was a child again. He greeted and hugged the two with open arms, an expression of joy Trish, again, never witnessed before. Dante finally backed away, gesturing his arm in a motion to offer the two visitors to come in. 

Trish held her breath. That man... His hair, his face and body build... It was all too familiar to someone she met years ago. 

Ivory, his arm still wrapped by Ebony, lead her inside. "It's been too long since we last got together like this," Ebony said as she handed her black staff to her partner, "you haven't forgotten about us already have you?" Ivory held the staff and directed her hand to Dante's, that was held out in front of her with a melancholic expression on his face. 

Trish's brow furled in confusion. The way this, Ebony, was moving... 

Dante held Ebony's hands in each of his own. Her head didn't move an inch and kept looking straight ahead, her eye-level landing on his chest. Slowly, she trailed her hands up his arms, past his neck to his face. Gently, she touched and stroked his cheeks, feeling his nose, her black glove contrasting with the platinum hair as she ran her fingers through it. Ebony curled her red lips, obviously satisfied with what she felt. "You've grown so handsome, Dante." She balanced herself on her toes and reached up to kiss him on the cheek. Dante's lips curled to a goofy smile, and a bit of colour tainting his cheeks. 

This left Trish wide-eyed. There was something definitely wrong with this picture. 

"You don't look a day older the last time I saw you Ebony. And you still look like you're a corporate tycoon, Ivory." Dante remarked. 

"And you still look like a punk." Ivory retorted with affection. His blue eyes wandered around room filled with demon heads, each held by a sword. "Demon heads?" 

"It's a little hobby of mine..." 

Ebony's smiled turned to a frown, "Heads?..." It was for just a moment, but she held a worried look on her face, obviously not liking the "unique" decoration style. Just as she was about to nag Dante on taste, her head shifted to the right, straight at Trish. "Aren't you going to introduce us to your friend?" 

Trish froze. Dante took Ebony by the hand and lead both the visitors to his blonde partner while manoeuvring around the garbage on the floor at the same time. Trish stared at the woman whose gaze still didn't falter. Dante kept her close by as he walked as if she'd get lost if she were left alone. The walking, the cane, the way Ebony stroke Dante's face as if tracing an outline of an object... 

Trish could come to just one conclusion. _ She's blind..._ Something Dante has neglected to mention. 

All three approached the blonde and Dante gestured to her, "This is my new partner, Trish." She extended her hand out to the two, first shaking hands with Ivory, then with Ebony. "Trish, this is Ivory and Ebony." 

"Pleasure to meet you both." Trish felt a bit awkward with the two. There was an aura of uneasiness she just couldn't identify. 

Ivory cocked his head back, "...You're a full devil aren't you?" 

"The one from Mallet Island." Ebony added casually. 

Dante and Trish blinked in surprise. Neither one of them told anyone else about that incident, or about Trish's background. 

"Don't be so shocked." Ivory smiled, "Every devil hunter and demon knows about what you two did. The Underworld hasn't stopped gossiping about it." 

Ebony, still beside Dante, patted her former protege on the cheek, "It seems you've developed quite a reputation, kid." 

Everyone but Dante smiled at his nickname. "Ebony, I'm not a kid anymore... And you promised not to call me that." Dante whined. 

"Old habits die hard, kid." Ebony let out her hand and instinctively Ivory placed the cane's handle in her palm. The cane seemed much too thin to support anyone's weight, even someone as short as Ebony. Lightly she tapped the ground around her, hitting pizza boxes, bottles and whatever lurked the floor, "I see your room habits haven't changed either." 

Ivory walked around the room, observing the still-bleeding heads and posters littering the walls. As he approached Dante's desk, a large poster of a woman bearing her large, round breasts with only two small stars covering her smaller round flesh caught his eye. He turned to Dante, to the poster and back to Dante. 

Trish helped Ebony settle into her desk seat, while Dante caught Ivory pointing to his poster. Ivory was about to open his mouth when Dante lifted a finger over his own lips and mouthed, she doesn't have to know! The man in white shook his head with a grin. _Some things really don't change..._ he thought. 

"Ok besides coming to nag at me, what brings you guys to town?" Dante, along with Trish, settled on her desk while Ivory still wandered around the room. 

Ebony brushed a hair behind an ear, and adjusted her sunglasses, "Business and pleasure. We wanted to visit you on a less troubled manner but... We're on a hunt and your name popped up, kid." 

"Dante?" Forgetting her uneasiness, Trish focused her attention on the matter at hand, "What about him?" 

"Someone is after him." Ivory answered from the back of the room, facing the wall of hanging swords and various guns on shelves. He noticed a dust of shimmer on the weapons and splinters of glittering rock. It looked as if something was shattered there... With his back turned, it exposed his massive sword hanging on his back, much longer than Alastor. "A source of mine reported a, 'black knight' heading towards this city. From the description, it sounds like he could be a General rank." 

Dante tilted his head back. He already knew who they were talking about, "Let me guess, he has a glowing red lance?" 

"You've seen him?" Ebony, now worried, faced directly towards Dante's voice. 

"We've met him last night, " Trish added, "but he escaped before we could do much damage." 

Ebony stretched out a hand and Dante immediately held it in his, "He didn't hurt you did he?..." She sounded like a mother concerned for her child. 

"Just a scratch." Dante replied in his usual confident manner. 

Trish rolled her eyes. He looked too beaten up to call it just a 'scratch.' "Any word why this knight is looking for Dante?" 

"Apparently," Ivory finally joined the three, taking his giant broadsword from his back and setting it beside him as he leaned on Trish's desk, "the black knight is in search of Sparda." 

The two owners of Devil Never Cry had mixed reactions. Trish 's eyes widened while Dante grumbled under his breath, "Everyone knows my old man's dead." 

"That's where your reputation comes into play." Ebony added. "Since you defeated Mundus, the Underworld's been labelling you 'Legendary Dark Knight'... So this black knight of ours may by calling you, Sparda." 

"Or at least see you as Sparda-incarnate." Ivory sat down beside Dante. "Whatever the reason, we're not about to let him lay a hand on you while we're here." 

Dante looked quite surprise by this offer of protection. He didn't exactly like the idea of being looked after like a helpless child. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm well adept in taking care of my self." 

Noting his irritation, Ebony walked up to Dante and laid her hand on his cheek, "I know you are... But you should remember that it's my job to worry over you. You always rush into things without thinking ahead; I'm surprised you weren't severely wounded in your meeting with that knight." 

Trish tried to hold back a smile, "Actually, he was--" Dante shot a deathly glare at his partner, the same look he always made when he wanted her to keep her mouth shut. Trish just shrugged back at him. Obviously, she was enjoying seeing this side of the 'Legendary' Dante powerless before his foster parents. 

Ebony smirked by the sudden change she felt on his face. She knew when he was covering his injuries under his cool demeanour. "Dante, is there a place we can talk in private?" 

Dante didn't expect that so soon, "Uh, sure. Upstairs." His eyes shifted from Trish to Ivory, then back to Trish, "I'll let you guys can get better acquainted." He slid off the desk, taking Ebony by the hand and leading her to the stairs. 

Before they disappeared around the corridor, Ebony turned and bowed her head slightly to Trish's direction, "Sorry to leave abruptly... Trish, was it?" 

"I don't mind..." And Trish watched both walk upstairs. Now it was just she and the tall, robust man sitting next to her. Obviously he was taller than Dante, more muscular too... just like him. He looked strong, but was so gentle and quiet at the same time. The resemblance was uncanny; come to think of it, he looked much like Dante as well... Yet, that back taste of uneasiness was still stirring within Trish and didn't realize she was staring right at him. 

Ivory raised an eyebrow, "Do I have something on my face?" 

Trish snapped out of her gaze, "No, sorry... You just... remind me of someone..." The look, the sword, it was like she was facing Virgil again. "So..." she started, "How long have you known Dante?" 

He contemplated the question while scratching his neck with pale fingers, "Since he was six years old... He was a boastful kid then, and he still is now. But we're probably at fault for that." Ivory smiled quietly, old memories flowing back to him in a wave. 

"Maybe you could tell me about his childhood sometime. I'm sure Dante would approve." She almost giggled at the thought. What she could use with that kind of information to blackmail Dante to do favours for her. 

Settling herself down, her thoughts changed to Ebony. "Not trying to be rude but, is Ebony..." 

"Blind?" Ivory finished for her, "She was... assaulted once, years ago. Her eyes were damaged but thankfully the attack wasn't deep enough to penetrate through the skull." He stared down at the floor, thinking of how serious the injury could have been, "She can detect extremely bright lights, but other than that, she is blind." 

"Oh..." Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to talk about that topic. "I'm sorry I brought it up..." 

Ivory looked up at her, smiling with warmth, "It's alright. She's learned ways to compensate for her blindness. I'd say the injury made her even more deadly. Her aims are still on target." He slipped off the desk and sat in the chair Ebony used, "So, you are a full devil?" 

Trish nodded. He didn't sound like he was phased by the idea at all. 

"If all devils were as attractive as you are, I doubt any hunters would be able kill such beauty." He ended with a slight nod of his head. "Dante has chosen a very lovely woman as his partner." 

Slight warmth brewed in her cheeks. If Dante was to see her now, he would tease her every chance he got. For what could be the first time, Trish was actually blushing. 

"Well, I can finally say I've witnessed a devil blush." Suddenly, his smile disappeared, "Concerning the black knight..." 

Trish nodded in response, still trying to hide her flushed cheeks. 

"Ebony didn't want to mention it... in front of Dante. About Sparda." 

"What about him?" She had an ominous feeling it would be troubled news. 

Ivory lowered his voice and leaned forward, as if to make sure the information falls only on the blonde's ears. "Rumours, unexpected rumours, are floating around the Underworld and among demons living in the Upperworld." His blue eyes narrowed, "There are some who say they witnessed seeing him but..." 

"'Him'? Who do you..." Then it clicked. Her own blue eyes widened at the prospect. 

Observing her expression, Ivory knew whom she was thinking of the same person. "Sparda may be alive." 

* * *

Well, I should tell you guys, I'm more an artist than writer and I try to draw most of my free time (I even managed to draw Ebony :) if you'd like to see it, it's on my site --obvious selfish promotion--). Heck, I was thinking of making this in comic style rather than as fanfic. Also, I can barely stay on the computer long enough to finish a couple of paragraphs. So to keep the fic coming out somewhat faster, I'll probably leave the editing to when I have sufficient time to do so, so that means I'll be posting half-assed works. BTW, I've changed the rating to PG-13, mainly cause it wasn't turning out as violent as I expected (yet...?) and FF.net seems to list fics rated G-PG13 as a default list for a category now.... annoying :( If you think it should still be rated R, please inform me by reviews. 

Little tidbit: "Il trillo del Diavolo" translates to "The Devil's Trill", composed by Giuseppe Tartini. Fantastic piece of violin music to listen to :) 


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